


Titles

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Biting, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masochism, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1586264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Justin can see the sudden tension in Giriko’s features, the way the chainsaw’s sleepy smirk drops into a vicious frown, but he doesn’t know why until Giriko grates out, 'What did you call me?' and everything clicks into place." Justin succeeds in picking a fight, and Giriko fails at the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Irritation

It’s been far too quiet recently. Justin’s not sure what the cause is, exactly, other than that he’s certain it’s not from Giriko mellowing with age. After all, with eight hundred years in his past there’s no particular reason a year could make this much of a difference. But the fact remains that Giriko has been unusually quiet recently, only offering token growls when Justin tries to needle him, and while there is something to be said for peace there is also something to be said for getting fucked up against a wall and bitemarks that linger for days. It is the latter that has been winning in Justin’s thoughts recently, and it’s not like they’re not having _sex_ , it’s just calmer and more reasonable and generally more _sane_ than what Justin has been itching for lately.

Which all means that when Giriko drags himself out into the living room on Saturday morning, Justin is prickly and ready to draw blood if need be to get the reaction he wants.

“Morning,” the chainsaw offers around a yawn. He’s wearing just boxers, as usual. Some days he doesn’t even go that far, at least not until the afternoon. Of course, those days Justin often doesn’t get much done until the afternoon too, so the blond figures he should probably be at least a little bit grateful.

Of course, today he’s not.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” he snaps instead, barely looking up from the book he has open in front of him. “Decided to attempt to be a productive member of society today?”

Giriko stops moving for a moment, runs a hand through his hair and stares at Justin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Even that doesn’t have the sharp edge Justin wants. The curse sounds more like an afterthought, habitual rather than loaded with any fire. “You sound like you have more of a stick up your ass than usual. You want a blowjob or something?”

 _Fuck_. He’s being _considerate_ , or considerate by the chainsaw’s usual standards. Justin hisses in wordless frustration and slams the book shut to punctuate. It’s not like he was really reading it anyway.

“ _No_ , I do _not_. You think all the problems of the world can be solved by _sex_.”

“You think they _can’t_ ,” Giriko grins. He starts moving again, comes in to lean over the table and breathe against Justin’s ear. “And you _always_ want blowjobs, don’t fuck around playing coy.”

Justin draws back, glaring up at the chainsaw from as much distance as he can maintain. “Yeah, definitely, the problems of the world can be solved by my boyfriend sucking me off.”

He doesn’t realize for a moment what he’s done. Or, rather, he can see the sudden tension in Giriko’s features, the way the chainsaw’s sleepy smirk drops into a vicious frown, but he doesn’t know _why_ until Giriko grates out, “ _What_ did you call me?” and everything clicks into place. Justin’s eyes widen for a breath, the realization hitting him too suddenly for him to call back the reaction. He’s usually better at judging these things, taking sniper-careful aim at sore spots rather than Giriko’s shotgun approach to getting a rise out of the priest. Of course, now that he _knows_ he can use it in the future, and he’s starting to smile anyway because _this_ was exactly what he wanted. With the rise of Giriko’s anger Justin’s chills into composure, so he can lean back against his chair, raise one eyebrow, smirk with a carefully calculated curve of his lips to push every damn one of the chainsaw’s buttons.

“I called you what you _are_ ,” Justin says, the innocence of his tone wildly out of proportion to the expression on his face. “My _boyfriend_.”

Giriko hisses, one hand snapping out to clutch a fistful of Justin’s shirt. Justin doesn’t flinch at the jerk on his clothes or the sudden increase in proximity to the chainsaw, just blinks up at him while his pulse starts to come faster at the unadulterated _rage_ in Giriko’s expression.

“I am _not_ your boyfriend,” Giriko spits, so close Justin flinches reflexively from the violence of the sound.

“Oh?” Justin shrugs as best he can against the pressure from his tight-pulled shirt. “My mistake. Must be someone else who was offering to suck me off a minute ago.”

“I’m not gonna fucking suck you off _now_ ,” Giriko growls. His teeth are very sharp. Justin can see the points of them from how close the other is; in spite of his best efforts his gaze is dropping to Giriko’s mouth more than his eyes. “You’re gunning for a _fight_ , kid, is that what you wanted?”

“Never said it wasn’t,” Justin says. It’s not like the admission will cool Giriko off, at this point. “You seemed heading towards domesticity recently. Of course, if you prefer to continue denying the commitment inherent in our relationship, be my guest.”

Something flickers over Giriko’s face; it’s almost a cringe, there’s a hint of softness in his eyes but more anger at his mouth, and the hand in Justin’s shirt moves to shake the blond, more for punctuation than for viciousness.

“ _Fuck_ you,” he spits. “I ain’t denying _anything_ about _our relationship_. But I’m _no_ one’s _boyfriend_.”

Justin is very briefly rendered entirely speechless by this. The anger, though he wasn’t counting on it, isn’t much of a surprise when he thinks it through. It’s the first statement that wipes his thoughts blank with shock for just a moment, and that’s long enough for Giriko to drag him bodily to his feet by his hold on the priest’s shirt.

“Take it _back_ ,” Giriko growls. The vibration of sound hums through Justin’s skin and settles into heat in his blood, so his eyelids flutter more than they need to when he blinks and his voice comes out a little slower, a little lower than he intended.

“I can’t take back something that’s _true_ ,” he says, almost slurring the words over a tongue gone heavy with anticipation. Giriko shoves him, lets go of his shirt at the last minute so the tug pulls Justin off-balance and he falls heavily into the wall instead of regaining his feet. Before he can collect his balance or his composure Giriko’s shoving up against him, forgoing the push of hands for the added strength of his shoulders and chest against Justin’s. Justin stares wide-eyed at the chainsaw, not frightened as much as breathless with the flood of satisfaction in his veins. They’re the same height but Justin’s at an angle against the wall, and Giriko’s stretching to his full height so Justin’s at eye-level with his mouth, can watch his lips and tongue shift as the chainsaw bites off words more than enunciates them.

“Fuck you, I’m _not_ your boyfriend.” The title turns into a curse in his mouth, and when Justin opens his mouth to respond Giriko’s lips crush against his, too hard to be called a kiss proper but still enough to shatter Justin’s focus so he slides another inch down the wall. There’s a flash of spiking pain as Giriko bites down on his lower lip, a rush of coppery blood over Justin’s tongue, and the blond is shuddering in the weird shaky pleasure of pain when Giriko pulls away and lets him breathe.

“You done?” he asks. There’s blood on his mouth, Justin’s blood staining his teeth and lips violent red, and Justin can’t look at the chainsaw’s eyes at all anymore. Even with his mouth stinging with the already-clotting tear in his lip he wants to lick that color off Giriko’s mouth.

“No,” he says as coolly as he can manage with his blood going to steam in his veins. “I won’t lie, certainly not for the sake of your bizarre need to defend your masculinity.”

Giriko’s hand comes down on Justin’s shoulder, high over his collarbone so a thumb digs against the blond’s throat. Justin drags his gaze up to meet the angry heat in Giriko’s eyes; as soon as their eyes meet the chainsaw growls, shoves down and presses his thumb against Justin’s pounding pulse. He maintains the pressure and Justin maintains their eye contact as he folds to his knees, sucking idly on his lip and watching the way Giriko’s mouth comes open absently in response to the shift of his own.

It’s not a surprise that the chainsaw’s hard; Justin could feel the other’s cock through the thin fabric of his boxers even when he was standing. Giriko’s not the only one, although Justin’s jeans do a better job of hiding that fact if he cared to pretend otherwise. The chainsaw’s not particularly concerned with it in any case; no sooner have Justin’s knees touched the floor than the hand on his shoulder catches at his jaw, a finger hooking into his mouth to slide over the blond’s tongue.

“Open your mouth,” Giriko orders, but Justin’s already parted his lips in preemptive action, so Giriko’s words come out like a desperate attempt to regain control rather than the domineering tone the other was trying to take. He’s reaching out for Giriko’s boxers to pull them free as well; Giriko doesn’t try to order him to do that, just growls in irritation and shoves two fingers into Justin’s mouth for the priest to lick, hooks his thumb over the blond’s chin to hold his mouth in place while his fingers press almost down the priest’s throat.

“You talk too fucking much,” Giriko grunts, moving his fingers to feel out the inside of Justin’s mouth until the priest can’t anticipate his movements, just licks and sucks whatever and whenever he can. Giriko’s boxers are off, Justin’s fingers fitting against the sharp line of his hips; the chainsaw shoves his fingers over the blond’s tongue once more, far enough that Justin’s throat works against the obstruction, then pulls them free and grabs the back of the priest’s head in one movement. His fingers are wet, catch on Justin’s hair even before he’s made a fist, but Justin’s coming forward fast, anticipating Giriko’s movements so he’s got his mouth over the head of the chainsaw’s cock before the other has even managed to get to the obvious conclusion of his complaint.

Giriko doesn’t groan, doesn’t offer any sort of coherent comment, just chuckles low and satisfied. Justin can see his expression go languid with pleasure at the contact, just for a breath; then Justin dips in farther quickly, and Giriko shoves at his head so the chainsaw slides far back in the blond’s mouth, and Justin’s attention on holding the chainsaw’s gaze evaporates under the more immediate concern of breathing around the intrusion in his mouth.

“ _God_ you look good like this,” Giriko says, the sound rumbling rich in his chest. The fingers at Justin’s head are too strong for the priest to push back against without an actual fight, and he doesn’t want to fight anyway; there’s a thrill to letting the other steer the pace of his movements, to stalling out his inhales until Giriko pulls his mouth back and he can take a shuddering desperate breath in the moment before he’s shoved back. “You weren’t made to be a _Death Weapon_ , you were meant to suck cock, obviously.”

Justin chokes on a laugh at that. Giriko grins down at him, thrusts back against the back of his throat until the amusement cuts off with a lack of air. “Maybe just mine.” His hand shifts sideways so his free hand can curl against Justin’s cheek with unusual tenderness, push the strands of yellow hair back from his forehead, and his gaze goes weirdly soft in counterpoint to Justin’s rising light-headedness and the continued burn of his blood at the back of his throat. “Or just mine.” He punctuates with another push, meeting his own thrust until Justin has to tip his head back to take the chainsaw’s length down his throat properly, has to shut his eyes while Giriko keeps talking. “You’re mine, okay? I’m not your _boyfriend_ but I’m --”

He cuts off like the possessive won’t come, can’t be forced up his throat, and when he lets Justin slide back and the priest opens his eyes the chainsaw’s not looking at him, he’s glaring at the wall instead. There’s a beat while Giriko scowls and Justin catches his breath; then the chainsaw looks back down, growls, “ _More_ ,” and shoves Justin back in so hard there’s no space for any other considerations in the blond’s head but breathing around the almost-metallic taste of Giriko in his mouth. He’s so lost to the thrust of the other’s length over his tongue and against his throat that he doesn’t realize, right away, what Giriko says when the chainsaw finally groans and comes over the back of Justin’s tongue. It’s not until the other man has pulled free and dragged Justin back to his feet, not until the chainsaw’s got his jeans more than half-open, that Justin realizes the word was ‘yours.’

He thinks about saying something, considers it for several seconds, but Giriko’s almost got his pants open, and before Justin’s come to a conclusion the other’s fingers close around him and any coherent response he might have mustered is lost in an appreciative groan.

“Fuck you,” Giriko purrs against his ear. “You were trying to pick a fight, weren’t you.”

Justin starts to laugh, although the sound comes out choppy with startled inhales in time with the pull of Giriko’s hand over his cock. “I didn’t know that would work so well.”

“Mm.” Giriko hums, leans in against Justin’s shoulders and drops his other hand down to shove the blond’s hips back against the wall to counteract the priest’s instinctive rocking forward into the friction of the other’s movements. “‘M I not _satisfying_ you enough?”

“I’m very --” Justin’s throat catches on a breath before he can finish his thought. “Satisfied. I’m just not -- not _bleeding_ enough.”

Giriko laughs at that, low and dark, and when he tips his head down to Justin’s shoulder Justin tips his head sideways in anticipation even before the other’s teeth break his skin. The burst of pain is fire under Justin’s skin, lancing through his blood so his whimper turns into a moan, the hurt floods into pleasure, and he jerks into Giriko’s hold and comes across the other’s wrist.

Giriko doesn’t let the bite against Justin’s shoulder loose until the blond is shuddering aftershocks against the wall; then he lets go, pulls back so Justin can see his face. His lips are red again, in the moment Justin can see before they come down on the priest’s mouth, and he tastes like copper and iron and oil. Justin shuts his eyes, and smiles, and when he opens his mouth there’s a purr at the back of his throat.


	2. Pleased

There’s no way he could have  _known_ , Giriko tells himself later. He’s gotten pretty good at judging Justin’s reactions to the prodding the chainsaw offers, good enough that he recognizes (in his own mind; he’d never admit it aloud) that only about half of what the priest does is due to Giriko’s taunts. More of it is Justin’s mood, how tired or irritable or horny he is, that determines whether they’re going to be teasing each other or having a real fight, and it’s been months since Giriko made the mistake of entangling his own response to a jibe with Justin’s.

Which means he’s about due for it, he rationalizes later. And the title makes him livid, defensive with the special sort of bleeding-edge desperation that means Justin’s hit  _way_  too close to the mark, especially because Giriko makes an effort to  _avoid_  letting the damn kid know about those triggers. Still, he seems to have most of them at this point, and all Giriko has is the blond’s sensitivity about not having a meister; it’d be kind of nice to even the score, even if he never  _uses_  that knowledge.

So, yeah, he’s trying to pick a fight when Justin comes home on a Thursday a couple weeks after Giriko made him swear,  _swear_  never to call him anything starting with a ‘b’ and ending with ‘oyfriend’ ever again. The chainsaw doesn’t think that’ll stick, but it’s holding for now, which means he doesn’t have that excuse for a fight, and he’s itching for one. His skin is prickling with anxiety, a low-level nervousness that’s been building ever since that last sort-of conversation, and it’s  _definitely_  not because he keeps finding that  _damn_  word on the tip of his tongue every time he turns around. And it’s  _reasonable_  that he find out how the priest reacts to it. Only sane thing to do, since the fucking blond knows how Giriko feels about the stupid title.

He’s been thinking about it off-and-on for an hour when the front door opens, slowly winding tighter and tighter around the idea until he can’t even pay attention to the mindless shit he’s got on the television. He turns it off a quarter till when Justin usually gets home, lies back on the couch and tries not to think too hard about how he knows when Justin usually gets home, how he can feel anticipation rising in his blood without even looking at the clock, cause that makes him feel like a  _pet_ , which is only slightly better than  _boyfriend_.

He waits to speak until Justin’s halfway down the hallway, after the delay and the rustle that is the priest shedding his boots and socks and robes at the door, the faint sounds of breathing and movement and half-voiced sounds of action. Justin speaks first, in fact, which Giriko counts as a win for all that the priest sounds horrifyingly  _domestic_  in the way he calls “Giriko?” down into the main part of the apartment.

“Yo,” the chainsaw says to the ceiling. A minute later a blond head comes into view, Justin tipping his head until he can get a good look at the chainsaw stretched out over the couch. He’s always done this, since the very first day, before Giriko learned what he tastes like or how his mouth feels or the truly  _amazing_  sounds his throat can produce. It’s some sort of ritual, checking to make sure his ward hasn’t killed himself or everyone around him while he was gone. It doesn’t even bother Giriko anymore.

He tries to avoid thinking about that too.

“Keeping busy?” Justin asks, only very slight sarcasm audible in his tone.

“‘Course.” Giriko kicks one leg off the couch to swing himself upright so he can get to his feet and slouch around the end of the furniture towards the priest. Justin stays where he is, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth and his eyes sharp enough that they could go towards really kinky or really violent or both at a moment’s notice. Luckily Giriko isn’t particularly concerned about his own safety, or he would worry. If it were  _him_  looking like that, Justin would be smart to worry about losing an ear, or a finger, or worse. “Don’t want to disappoint my  _boyfriend_ , now do I?”

Giriko is ready for the priest to frown, ready for a slashing blade-arm or a hiss or irritation or anything in between, along the whole range of how-is-Justin-feeling-today. He is not expecting the blond to lean back like Giriko’s threatening him, and he is  _definitely_  not expecting Justin’s eyes to go so wide. The sharp edge is gone like it was never there, washed away into blue-sky shock; Giriko’s never seen Justin look so utterly floored, not  _ever_.

“Wh--” Justin says, or starts to say. His throat closes up halfway through, Giriko can see it working around the sound, can see the priest’s mouth falling open soundlessly. The shock is maybe the only thing that could bring Giriko up so short; he was ready for violence or amusement or even casual dismissal, but he didn’t know Justin  _could_  look like this, there was no part of him that even  _considered_  such a response.

The blond’s starting to look a little shaky on his feet. Giriko’s forehead creases in concern; he reaches out a steadying hand before remembering that he doesn’t  _do_  that, he doesn’t  _fret_  over the other, and stalling out the movement. He can’t retract his hand, though, not when the priest really is starting to look translucent-pale, so it just hovers awkwardly in the air by Justin’s shoulder.

The blond looks at Giriko’s arm, swallows, forces himself to look back at the chainsaw’s face. “What. What did you say?”

Well. Those are the  _words_  Giriko was expecting, if not the tone. “I called you my  _boyfriend_.” He’s trying to turn the word sarcastic and saccharine, but he can’t quite manage it with Justin staring at him with his face white with shock, so it just comes out as generic emphasis. Even so the priest blinks at the word, opens his mouth, closes it again, starts to look away before obviously catching himself and forcing his eyes to stay fixed on the chainsaw’s.

“Hey.” This is not going as planned. Giriko’s desire for a fight has lost all its teeth, gone cold and slightly panicked because he doesn’t know what he’s done but Justin really does look like he’s on the verge of collapse. “Hey, kid, you alright?”

Justin does move, then, but at least he comes forward instead of back, and it appears to be more or less of his own volition. His head hits Giriko’s shoulder so the chainsaw can’t see his expression anymore, and it’s more of a relief than anything, if only so that the older man can speak more normally again. “Justin?”

“I’m fine.” The blond’s words are muffled against Giriko’s shirt, and he’s just leaning in against the chainsaw’s chest. Everything about the angle they are at implies that he should be hugging Giriko, or have his arms around his neck, or  _something_ , but there’s just the pressure of his head against the chainsaw’s sholder and Giriko’s hand still hovering in the air just shy of Justin’s elbow.

“You don’t look fine,” Giriko points out, still without moving.

“No one’s called me that before,” Justin says, clear and precise enough that he must be trying for clarity in spite of the obstruction in front of his mouth.

“D’you think that’s something that should have happened?” Giriko asks. He’s starting to grin; his hand finally completes its movement, lands against Justin’s arm without any thought at all. “As far as I understand you haven’t  _been_  someone’s boyfriend before now, kid. Generally people don’t call you that unless you  _are_.”

Justin punches him, gently as far as punches go but angled up against Giriko’s ribs so all the air rushes out of his lungs. “Shut up. I mean I...I’m not used to being anyone’s  _anything_.”

“Anyone’s anything,” Giriko repeats, as drily as he can manage, which means he only sounds a little like he’s on the verge of laughter. “Well said. I’m starting to see why being a Death Weapon is such a difficult thing, must have taken you  _years_  of schooling to get so damn coherent.”

He’s more ready for the punch this time, laughing before he flinches back from the impact, and when Justin snaps, “Shut  _up_ ,” the blond sounds like he’s on the verge of amusement himself. “I’m  _trying_  to be  _honest_  with you here.”

“And I’m trying to stop you,” Giriko shoots back. “I don’t  _do_  well with the touchy-feeling confessions, okay? You should  _know_  that if you don’t know a single other damn thing about me. You can have all the feelings you want ‘slong as I don’t need to hear about or acknowledge them.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s  _very_  reassuring, thanks,” Justin grumbles.

Giriko heaves a sigh, grabs at Justin’s shoulders to pull the blond’s face back so he can see the priest’s expression. He’s not crying, thank goodness; there’s just the lingering edge of that bloodless shock at the corners of his mouth and the edges of his eyes.

“Look,” Giriko sighs. “I’m not good at this. Let’s just go in to the bedroom and I can get back to what I  _am_  good at.”

Justin raises an eyebrow. Giriko tries not to think about the fact that relief at Justin looking  _normal_  again edges out his irritation at the expression.

“That was almost  _subtle_  for you,” the priest says, but he steps away and turns to head down the hallway anyway, so Giriko’s not complaining. The chainsaw follows him, deliberately close so he’s nearly kicking the back of Justin’s ankles as they walk. “I’m impressed.”

“I thought you’d like it,” the chainsaw grins at the back of Justin’s head. “I  _could_  be a lot more explicit if you’d like.”

“I know you  _could_  be,” Justin says without turning or slowing his pace. He sounds cool, now, steady and composed, and that’s a relief too.

“I mean, if you  _want_  I can tell you about my plan to strip all your clothes off and spread you out across the bed,” Giriko continues. Justin doesn’t speak to stop him. “How I’m gonna finger-fuck you open so I can watch you go to pieces even before I get my cock inside you and pound you into the mattress.” He reaches out to touch the back of Justin’s head, just where the yellow curl of his hair settles over the back of his neck, and the priest shivers and tips his head forward under the contact as they round the corner to the bedroom. Justin stops just past the doorway and Giriko steps in against him, breathes out over the back of his ear and slides one hand across the other’s stomach, pushing his thin shirt sideways under the pressure of his fingers. “I could tell you all about how you’re  _mine_  --”

Justin shudders, gasps an inhale, and Giriko was kind of expecting that but it’s still thrilling to feel how fast the priest responds to the word. He pulls Justin back against him; the priest’s shirt is up high enough that he’s got two fingers on bare skin, he can feel the shiver of response run through the blond. With Justin totally compliant Giriko can steady him one-handed, reach down to tug his pants open with his other hand while he keeps talking against the sensitive skin along Justin’s hairline. “My boyfriend or my weapon or whatever, whatever noun you fucking want to put on cause you seem to care about that and I don’t give a shit, really, as long as we’re both  _real_  clear on  _who_  is doing the owning. Is that something about being a weapon, that you want to be  _possessed_?” He gets the blond’s pants open, lets his steadying hold go so he can hook his thumbs around the other’s clothes and push them down to Justin’s feet. “I sure never felt that way.” The priest is a little shaky on his own but he steadies himself with a hand on Giriko’s shoulder, steps free of his pants and boxers at once; Giriko keeps his hands at his sides as he comes back up, catches the edge of Justin’s shirt and peels that up and off over his head as he goes. Justin lifts his arms obediently, doesn’t speak even when Giriko pauses for him, and when the chainsaw nudges him forward he goes, crawls onto the bed before turning around to stare at Giriko with that same odd wide-eyed expression on his face again.

“I don’t get it,” Giriko goes on, leaving Justin on the bed so he can collect the lube, open the bottle and drip liquid over his fingers. “This  _thing_  you have about being alone.” Justin leans back over the bed as he approaches, dropping down to lie flat over the sheets and spreading his legs in invitation without Giriko even asking, so Giriko doesn’t even have to move him before he can reach in to push a finger against the blond’s entrance. Justin sighs as the finger slides inside him, his eyes falling shut as he visibly relaxes into the sheets.

Giriko keeps talking, though he’s not sure Justin’s listening anymore, punctuating the rumble of words over his tongue with the shift of his hand inside the blond. “You’re so fucking hung up on being on your  _own_ , being  _solo_ , like the whole be-all end-all of your fucking existence revolves around you being  _alone_.” He shifts his hand, fits another slick finger inside the priest, resumes his slow movement. “Which makes even  _less_  goddamn sense cause you’re  _not_. You decided to fucking  _adopt_  me, save my goddamn life like it’s something worth saving, you’re  _not_  alone and then you seem so fucking startled when I tell you so.” He grins, laughs shortly. “And you think you’re so goddamn smart. You’re just a kid, really.”

Justin’s not speaking, still; Giriko’s not even sure he’s hearing any of this. That’s okay. He’s not talking for Justin’s sake. He slides his hand free and Justin shivers but doesn’t move to sit up or roll over, doesn’t even reach to touch himself although he’s hard, has been hard since well before Giriko started working his pants open. That’s fine too, Giriko likes him best when he’s desperate for the touch of the chainsaw’s hands anyway. Unbuckling his pants and stripping them off is a rapid process; taking his shirt off too takes a moment longer, but it’s worth it, especially for the way Justin’s eyelids flutter when he tips his head up and sees how much skin Giriko’s showing.

Giriko doesn’t bother waiting, although he’s teased Justin before and he does  _love_  the way the blond gets when he does. But this isn’t the time, so he just closes his fingers around his length, offers the few efficient strokes necessary to coat himself in lube, and comes in to lean down and catch Justin’s lower lip in a kiss while he lines himself up. The priest exhales shakily against Giriko’s skin, his narrow fingers come up to slide over the chainsaw’s chest, and when the older man thrusts himself slowly inside Justin just sighs with as much satisfaction in the sound as Giriko can feel coursing through his body. He pulls away from Justin’s mouth, just an inch or two so he can watch the blond’s face; Justin’s staring at him, eyes wide and still slightly glazed from his earlier shock. Giriko can see the faint marks of his teeth in Justin’s lip from the weeks earlier; it shows on the blond’s shoulder, too, a crescent of pale pink skin too new to have lightened to match its surroundings. Giriko leans in towards the shape, presses his mouth to it without any of the teeth such a gesture usually entails, and Justin whimpers, very softly, in the back of his throat.

Giriko settles a hand deliberately gently on the priest’s hip, slides back with as much care as he placed his hand. When he rocks back forward it’s a little faster, hard enough that Justin’s breath gusts out of him. When Giriko murmurs, “ _Mine_ ,” into the blond’s shoulder, the sigh turns into a moan halfway through. Giriko grins, braces himself a little more firmly, and starts to set a rhythm, slow but steadily accelerating as he keeps talking into Justin’s skin.

“I don’t go in for titles, myself,” he says, calm as if they’re just having a conversation and he’s not got his cock up the blond’s ass, calm as if they  _ever_  just have a conversation. “Obviously you do, though.” Justin’s breathing faster, now, inhaling fast enough that he’s clearly past the point of response. Giriko lets his hip go, curls his fingers around the blond’s cock with pointed delay so he can feel the way Justin hisses and arches into the contact.

“I’ll call you whatever you want,” he goes on, speeding the strokes of his hand to match the rock of his hips. Justin gasps, groans; his fingers come up against the back of Giriko’s neck, hold the chainsaw’s head down so he couldn’t see the blond’s expression if he tried. “If  _boyfriend_  is what does it for you --” Justin hisses, rocks up off the bed for a brief moment of stunning sensation. Giriko grunts, pauses, takes a moment to recollect his rhythm before he keeps talking. “Then I’ll call you that. You wanna be my weapon partner?” Justin  _wails_  at that, as Giriko half-suspected he would; the chainsaw tightens his grip, speeds the stroke of his hand until Justin drops back to the bed, starts to pant and shake under his touch. “I’ll call you that. It doesn’t  _matter_ , anyway, cause I’m  _here_  and I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted to, and I  _don’t_  want to.”

Giriko’s own breathing is starting to go, rushing a little too fast through his lungs so it’s hard to talk, but Justin is going tense underneath him so he keeps talking. “I’m  _here_ , you idiot, whatever the fuck you thought having a partner would look like you have one now.” He drops to an elbow, curls his fingers into a fist in Justin’s hair and tips his head to breathe against the blond’s ear. “Now fucking  _come_  for me.”

Justin’s back arches up off the bed until his skin brushes against Giriko’s; the chainsaw can feel the taut edge of pleasure coiling through his body, thrumming through his blood like a shock of electricity. Then the chainsaw drops his weight down to press Justin into the bed, and jerks his hand over the blond’s length, and Justin groans and comes, the tension snapping and fading out into shivery convulsions against Giriko.

Giriko’s not far behind, now that he doesn’t need to focus on speaking. He lets Justin go, grabs the priest’s hip to hold him steady, and is just starting to speed the rhythm of his thrusts into the blond when Justin’s arms curl around his neck, and lips brush against his jaw, and the priest says, “ _Yours_ ” and the world explodes away in a rush of heat and sensation and pleasure.

Giriko didn’t realize that he was as hung up on that word as Justin is. He reflects on this, distantly, once the peak of sensation has passed and he’s dropped heavy over the blond’s smaller frame. Justin isn’t complaining; he’s got his fingers trailing through Giriko’s hair, the motion so tender Giriko would complain if it didn’t feel too damn good for him to care.

“So,” he finally mumbles against the healing bite mark in Justin’s shoulder, not bothering to lift his head. “I’ve got myself a boyfriend, huh?”

Even now, he can feel the shiver that runs through Justin, the brief pause before the blond speaks, but his voice is level when he does. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Giriko growls.

Even without seeing Justin’s face he can feel the movement of a smile.


End file.
